Forever?
by luckyzen
Summary: King Arthur Movie / Highlander crossover.
1. Prologue

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Author's Note:

This story is a crossover based on the movie King Arthur and Highlander: the TV series. Most of the characters will be from the movie, but at least one major Highlander character will appear later in the story. I prefer not to list all the characters or summarize the story because I personally enjoy reading more when there is an air of mystery to it.

I own nothing from either source, nor do I receive any profit from writing this tale. As a challenge for myself I have chosen to begin writing with no outline and am not sure exactly where this will lead. I will be updating as I complete each chapter. In order to break the story where it seems natural, the first few chapters may be relatively short. If the story turns out the way I picture it in my mind later chapters will be longer.

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Prologue:

When they were roving the countryside Tristan always worked harder than the rest of the knights. He was alert to signs, sounds, and signals none of the rest could even hope to understand. He rode ahead scouting for danger as they traveled, and then stood guard throughout the long evenings while his brothers took their rest. More risk was his. There was no jovial camaraderie for him on the road .

When they were stationed at the wall, Tristan was always absent. Drills, guard duty, and solving disputes amongst the locals were common assignments for the other knights. Tristan, however, never participated, and Arthur never protested. The commander knew better than anyone how hard he pushed this man. He never hesitated or apologized for his expectations in the field, he simply commanded. At the wall, he rewarded Tristan with autonomy. He knew of no better way to thank the man for his irreplaceable loyalty and skill.

Tristan expected no special treatment, but was grateful nevertheless. He had little patience for trivial disputes or playing bodyguard to visiting diplomats. He needed no drills to sharpen his considerable skills. Thankfully, none of the other knights were angered by the his absence. They had no desire to endure his sharp criticism of their sword work, or to spend time apologizing for him to Roman and Briton alike. While all of them were thankful for the superior effort he put in when they were dispatched on a mission, none of them were interested in working with him on a more domestic front.

Thus, on the day that Galahad's arrow shot out of the practice area and into the courtyard of a visiting Roman dignitary creating enough drama to keep Arthur and all his men busy well into the night, Tristan was nowhere to been found. In fact, no one even gave the scout a second thought until late in the evening of the following day.


	2. Chapter 1

Chapter 1:

They were two hours west of the wall along a meandering green path when Tristan's horse alerted him to the impending doom. Together they had made a wide circuit through the heart of the forest, and for once Tristan had set no specific course for their travels. The day had been spent communing with the wild and its creatures. Although he had made sure to memorize paths and potential hiding places for future use, clearing of the mind and spirit had been the order of the day. Anxious to return home before night fell, Tristan urged the skittish creature forward and kept his eyes peeled.

When the ambush began, he expected it. He had seen movement in the foliage at the edge of a clearing, and the presence of human predators had been confirmed by the peculiar diving pattern his hawk had chosen to weave in the eastern sky. Not wanting to tip off his watchers, he had continued leisurely downhill towards the clearing below. A good skirmish with the woads of the woods wasn't something he wanted to avoid. Arthur's commitments had kept his knights close to the fort for sometime now, and Tristan welcomed the chance to engage a worthy enemy. In retrospect his enthusiasm might have been a mistake.

When he was with the other knights, Tristan never allowed himself the luxury of emotion. He stayed calm and stalwart. He was aloof to everything but duty and honor, technical skill and strategic thought. But, when he was alone he sometimes let go and allowed himself to run on nothing but pure emotion. The logical, calculating ,and cold Tristan that greeted his brothers everyday would have been the first one to point out the folly of doing so. But the true Tristan, the one who lay dormant under the weight of years serving Rome, was a creature of the wild, of the old ways, and the old gods. He was predisposed to allow his heart and, above all, his instinct guide him. It was only iron will and self control that kept him in check on a daily basis. Today he was responsible for no one but himself, and today Tristan wanted to fight and bloody and bleed.

The moment his horse reached the base of the hill, he was attacked. But, he was ready. Two fell to his bow before any of the amorphous shapes leaping towards him had even become clearly visible as human. The path he was traveling on was suddenly blocked by a fallen tree, and he had to pull up hard on the reins to keep from barreling straight into it. Several arrows whirred past his head as he vaulted from his horse to the ground. In an attempt to protect his steed from the lethal projectiles he slapped the horse soundly on its flank, and as the creature reared and bolted into the forest, Tristan drew his sword. A small smile found its way to his lips, and his eyes darkened in anticipation of the coming fight. Within seconds his weapon was met by a thick broadsword, and the swordplay he had yearned for commenced.

Once the battle had begun, it was with a sense of shock he identified the hard metallic clink his sword was creating as indicative of armor from a Roman forge. A quick assessment of his attackers confirmed that most of them were indeed outfitted in standard Roman military issue. He wondered for a fleeting second why the soldiers had chosen to attack. He should have appeared to be a civilian to them, as he had forgone wearing any heavy armor on his excursion. He considered trying to reason with them knowing Arthur would not approve of his Sarmatian scout locking swords with his Roman kin, but before he could act in that vein a glancing blow to his head knocked all conscious thought from his mind and he threw himself entirely into the fray. Soon his natural lust for the blood and deep-rooted resentment for all things Roman took control. He found himself giving into the desire to slaughter every vestige of the empire that had forced him from the land of his birth. It is no surprise that those he was fighting soon began to wonder if it was a man or a demon they had run across.

It was this very surrender to emotion which lead to his downfall. He lost perspective and failed to even consider surrender or flight as the attackers kept coming. Any fool could have seen that there were too many of them for one man to defeat. In fact, there were probably too many of them for ten men to defeat. Yet he fought on, blood streaming down his face and arms. Shallow cuts began to make way for more severe wounds as the ensuing dizziness caused him to let his guard down more and more often. This couldn't end well.

The final blow came from behind. He sank to the ground. His thoughts cleared .He remembered his home. He closed his eyes. Finally he would see it again, actually smell it, the grass covered plains and the open skies. Despite the din of the enemies surrounding him, Tristan met his death peacefully.

Moments later a haughty young Roman commander glared down at Tristan's body and the others littered around it. "Expensive kill.", he remarked to the lieutenant at his shoulder. "Throw him in a hole. I don't want to smell him come morning."


	3. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2:**

It was night when he woke up and dirt was everywhere, stinging his eyes, clogging his ears, and caked on his tongue. The first breath he took upon reaching consciousness burned his lungs. His skin tingled, and Tristan wondered how he was alive to feel it. He clearly remembered the battle, the resultant pain, and his subsequent death. He should not have awoken at all. Of that he was certain. An immediate sense of apprehension fell upon him, and all of his cautious tendencies were brought to the fore. Consequently, he made an effort to remain still and began to evaluate his surroundings.

Almost immediately his sensitive ears alerted him to the sound of scraping somewhere above him. This sound was quickly followed by a male voice speaking the low class Latin common amongst Roman soldiers of inferior rank.

"Should have left the bastard for the wolves. Tell me why it is 'round every corner we travel on this sodden island we find common scum who don't know their place."

"Well, this one took 15 of our own with him to hell, and Granus won't survive to see another night," a second voice answered. " Common might not apply, whoever he was."

"Common enough now isn't he?" replied the first man. "He'll rot no different than anyone else."

Realizing that the Romans believed he was dead, Tristan redoubled his effort to remain immobile. He was lying face down in a pit, and tried not to flinch as a shovel full of earth fell on his splayed legs. Soon the dirt began to fall faster, and he felt his heart begin to hammer in his chest. Being buried alive may have been one of the few situations that could still strike fear in his heart. It was clear that he needed to extricate himself from his grave quickly, and he scrambled to think of a suitable plan.

He slowly moved his arm and checked to see if any of his many weapons were still on his person. It was no surprise to discover that all of them were missing. Not a desirable situation, but there was nothing to be done about it. There was no way around confronting the two gravediggers he had been listening to for the last few minutes and without his weapons the task would be more difficult. He hoped that they were alone, and armed with nothing but shovels.

Due to the lack of alternatives, he settled on direct confrontation as his best option. If he could get out of the pit before the men above realized what was happening he might stand a good chance at overpowering them. He gradually bent his legs so that they curled underneath him and in the midst of a particularly heavy deluge of dirt he pushed himself upward crouching as low as possible in the shallow grave. Once certain he had solid footing, he sprang over the edge and faced the two men defiantly. "I believe the common folk deserve a bit more respect than you gentlemen seem to afford them", he smirked.

Both Romans froze in place, horror clearly written across their faces as they confronted the dead man standing in front of them. Tristan took a step towards the larger of the two men and relieved him of his shovel. The man was too dumbstruck to offer any resistance and so by the time the pair realized what was happening, Tristan was armed. He twirled the shovel menacingly and struck the first blow. Neither of the soldiers stood a chance. After they had been dispatched, he rolled their bodies into the grave and used his makeshift weapon covered them with earth. He almost regretted that they hadn't been much of a challenge.

Once he finished their burial, he brushed some of the dirt off of his tunic and shook his head vigorously. As the dislodged earth fell to the ground, he found himself wondering again how it was that he was alive. He felt no pain and a quick inspection of his body yielded no sign of any wounds. His clothing, however, told a different story. His tunic was quite literally sliced to shreds, and his breeches had several long slashes as well. Both garments were also covered in blood, but whether it was his or that of the men he had killed could not be ascertained. A combination of suspicion and fear tingled across his scalp as he tried to make sense of what had happened. When no answers were forthcoming, he realized that he could not stay at the gravesite any longer. The risk of discovery was too great. He needed a strategy. He scanned the horizon and quickly identified the options for hiding himself while he thought of one.

In the end he opted to circle the Roman encampment, and return to the site where he had been ambushed. Upon arriving at the scene of his not so permanent death, he whistled softly hoping that his horse had escaped and was waiting nearby for its master. As he waited for his mount to respond he scoured the area for any sign of his weapons. His search was in vain and after a few minutes had passed he whistled again. When there was still no response he frowned. The stallion was so well trained that its lack of response indicated a distinct possibility that it had been captured or had not survived. Unarmed and unhorsed he stood no chance against the Romans or any others who might cross his path. He noticed that the sun would soon be rising and caution demanded he no longer linger a clearing so close to the Roman encampment. He began to climb slowly up the adjacent slope and back into the heavy tree line. From there he would wait and watch until the opportunity presented itself to reclaim his weapons, and perhaps one of the Roman horses.


	4. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3:**

"Of all the stupid ……… Dammit Man, you really caused a ruckus." Bors slammed his tankard to the table and pointed an accusatory finger in Galahad's direction.

"Well," Galahad began pensively, "I didn't know the trajectory of my arrows had such a tremendous bearing on the fate of the known world."

"Thanks to you Arthur had to agree to help that pompous ass. Out we'll go in the mornin' looking for a man who may have already left this forsaken island. Just because he ran off with a bit of coin that weren't his and you had to go an' almost skewer the man he took it from. Ya know he even told Arthur, ordered him no less to avoid any fighting at all costs. Doesn't want us gettin' distracted he says. No fun to be had on this jaunt I tell you. No fun at all."

Galahad squirmed. "He only left two days ago. According to the farrier he had a whole wagon full of trinkets when he hitched up and rolled out of the village. Shouldn't be that hard for Tristan to track him down."

"Where is Tristan anyway? Arthur was asking after him earlier, and I'd watch out for him if I were you lad. He's the one who is going to be most put out by this whole fiasco. Tracking some petty thief and avoiding a bloody fight while doin' it isn't something he is going to thank you for ya know."

"I know."

"Well, if I were you I'd go find him. Sooner he's involved sooner this whole mess'll be over."

"I don't suppose you would care to join me while I search?"

The laughter of Bors filled the room. "I hardly think so. My Vanora's already hot about us having to take off so sudden. She'll need some extra time with Bors to get over it. And I have more ale on the way to keep me company until she's free from the kitchen anyway."

Galahad scowled as he stepped out of the tavern. He didn't actually know which way to go. Where the hell was Tristan anyway? Although he hadn't admitted his failure to Bors, he had been searching for the scout most of the evening. Arthur had made it very clear that it was his responsibility to get everyone ready for their mission the following morning. Arthur always said he loathed the idea of punishments for his men, preferring instead that they be treated like equals and follow him out of respect not fear. But whether Arthur would call it such or not, a punishment the search for Tristan most definitely seemed to be, at least in Galahad's eyes.

In desperation Galahad wandered around the fort. He checked the stables, he checked the farrier, and he checked the wall. He'd already been up top where Tristan often loitered twice this night and the guards were starting to look at him funny. He finally decided to check Tristan's quarters for the second time, although logic dictated that if his horse was not in the stable nor at the farriers the scout wouldn't be found in his bed. When he reached said quarters he didn't find Tristan, but he did find Gawain, who appeared to have just completed a very successful raid of the kitchen pantry.

"What do you mean by missing?" Gawain scratched his beard and handed Galahad a hunk of bread.

"Nowhere to be found. " Galahad shouted slowly. He was convinced that sometimes Gawain could be one of the thickest people he had ever meet. "No Tristan. No Tristan's Horse. No damned hawk. Nothing. And no one has seen him anywhere either. Where is he?"

"Don't know. But I'll tell you one thing, I'm sure I could find him before you if I set my mind to it." Gawain said with a chuckle.

"Fine then. A wager it is. Stop stuffing all that bread down your gullet and let's get on with it."


	5. Chapter 4

Chapter 4:

Deep in the woods Tristan had found shelter, but could not relax. His thoughts kept returning to the battle he had engaged in with the Romans and the injuries he had sustained. He ran his fingers through his tangled locks and pondered his plight. In his service to Rome he had learned early to consult fact before making any assumptions. He idly passed his hand over his abdomen and felt the smooth skin. No new scars were evident. He also reexamined his shredded clothes. He had no doubt that the Romans had believed him truly dead and had dragged him to a pit for burial. They didn't usually make mistakes when it came to death, and the conclusion he was coming to was not easily believed.

Soon he found himself thinking back to his youth. The people of his tribe had believed in many things. Often would they gather around the fire and tell tales. One legend had told of an ancient warrior, a decedent of the gods who death had always refused to visit. Each time he was mortally wounded he had risen again and protected the people and their lands. Could there have been some truth to the legend? Was it possible to die and rise again?

After yet another examination of his torso, he decided to forgo any more attempts to rest or to find reason in the events of the previous day. The only thing that was perfectly clear to him was that he did not have enough evidence to draw any logical conclusions. He decided to focus on the present, and began to scout out a suitable vantage point to gather intelligence about the Romans camped below.

By midday the Romans were packed up and on the move, and Tristan elected to follow them. He had discovered that they were traveling to the wall. Their assignment was to spearhead the final attempt by Rome to defeat the Woads once and for all. It was also evident that the commander and his second had great distain for everyone who was not Roman. As they traveled, they slaughtered anyone they encountered on the road. Their assumption seemed to be that any Briton was a potential enemy.

Tristan had encountered men like these before. Men who believed that replacing the entire population of the island with Romans was a mandate from their god. They were undoubtedly a threat and it was evident that Arthur would want to be alerted as soon as possible. He needed to return to the wall immediately.

He had not found an opportunity to recover his weapons, and it hadn't taken the Romans long to discover the loss of the two men he had killed the previous evening so the entire company was on high alert. He did not have a chance to replace his mount either as the spare horses were being kept at the center of the column of soldiers. He reluctantly conceded that he would have to do without either and he prepared to set off through the wild on foot in an attempt to reach the fort long before the slow moving Romans.

He was no stranger to the woods in which he found himself. He had traversed them often during his tenure in Britain both on horse and on foot. This familiarity served him well and soon he was oriented and on his way. As he set out he was suddenly struck by a blinding headache. He attributed this to having had little food or drink since the previous day and resolved to rectify the situation as soon as possible. And so as he moved through the dense foliage he began to take note of his surroundings and tried to locate a suitable source for his dinner.

He located an odd berry or nut, but was unsuccessful in locating a large cache of either or any prey he could take down with his shovel or the toss of a stone. It was not until he came to a fairly large creek that his luck turned. He began to notice signs of human passage. He soon found that the trail of broken underbrush lead him to a large covered cart. Nearby two horses were grazing their fill. He quickly noted the ham hock roasting on the spit near a fire. He began to stealthily move towards it when all of a sudden his ears began to ring and his headache returned.

The man who appeared out of nowhere would have not seemed threatening, if he had not been brandishing such a very large sword when Tristan had naught but a shovel to protect himself with. Immediately on the defensive the scout studied his opponent. He was tall and lean with a hawk-like nose and extremely angular features. When he spoke it was with the voice of Roman aristocrat.

"You will challenge me with only shovel at your side? I have seen those who favor many an odd weapon, but this seems hardly fair."

"It is not I who has cause for concern." Tristan responded as he repositioned his hands on the shovel.

"Very well, let's get on with it then. I no longer hunger for the quickening, but if there can be only one of us today we need to get this over with. I have a ship to catch in three days hence."

"And I have no time for your riddles. Relinquish one of your beasts and your ham hock and I shall leave you to live."

"Ah", the strange man sighed as he arched his brow, "You are but newly born. I really don't have time for this, but tell me did you die recently?"


	6. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

The sun had risen but neither Gawain nor Galahad had won the wager they had agreed to the previous evening. Tristan was still nowhere to be found. Both knights were extremely tired, and due to the ale break they had taken in the wee hours of the morning, neither was thinking entirely clearly. Galahad had become ever more morose and frustrated, but to his annoyance Gawain's mood had remained exasperatingly positive.

"We should try the eastern gate. He must have left the compound, and perhaps the guards there will remember his departure."

"You go." Galahad snapped. "I'm tired and I find that I no longer have the least interest in that bastard's whereabouts. I can track as well as any man. I don't see why we'll need him anyway."

Gawain grinned. "Yes, well your inability to find said man does argue against that point. Besides, there is the small matter of what you will tell Arthur when Tristan does not accompany us later."

Galahad scowled before conceding. "To the gate then ?"

"To the gate." Gawain smiled wider.

Many of the wall's residents had already begun to stir, and as the pair made their way towards the rising sun and the settlement's eastern most checkpoint, more than a few studied them with open curiosity. They were hard to ignore as they strode quickly down the center of the street arguing loudly about the likelihood that Tristan had been kidnapped by slave traders. Gawain seemed positive it was a real possibility, while Galahad believed the theory to be absolutely ridiculous. To the casual observer it was obvious that Galahad was winning this particular debate, but Gawain would not give in. Their banter continued to attract attention until the two knights approached the gate and the half a dozen of Roman sentries stationed there.

Galahad took the lead in questioning the Roman guards, but accomplished little other than making the men look decidedly uncomfortable. Most of the Romans stationed at the fort kept as far away from the Sarmatians as possible. The knights were all known to be extremely volatile, and as all of them had Arthur's trust and respect, the odds were that any conflict that might arise would not end favorably for the Romans.

None of the guards could confirm the last time they had seen Tristan or if he had left through this gate in the last few days. In fact, none of them had been in the area for weeks. They had just been rotated into this duty. Until the prior evening their unit had been responsible for guarding the armory located at the fort's interior. The men who had held this position previously had been sent out on maneuvers in the southernmost region of the island.

After it became clear that further interrogation of the guards would be futile, Gawain and Galahad passed through the gate and entered the large grassy meadow beyond it. They stopped where several narrow cart paths branched off in different directions. Galahad stared off into the distance wondering what he should do next. He wished that Tristan and his steed would come prancing down one of the paths. For good measure he also wished a pox on him. Gawain chose a more practical approach and began to pace back and forth staring at various tracks in the dried dirt. Several minutes passed before either man said anything. It was Gawain who spoke first.

"Look!" he exclaimed.

Galahad quickly rushed to his brothers side, but try as he might he could see nothing but green grass covered in the morning dew and a pile of horse manure. "What?" he finally asked.

"Proof !Tristan and his mount were here." Gawain puffed triumphantly.

"Explain what I'm looking at."

"These droppings. They are definitely from his horse. I recognize them. He has passed this way and into the hills yonder." Gawain then pointed to the east.

"You expect me to believe that you have solved the riddle of Tristan's whereabouts by gapping at a pile of dung?" Galahad shook his head and considered how hard he needed to wallop Gawain to knock some sense into him. "You really believe that you can recognize the manure from a specific horse?"

"Tristan's horse. Not any horse. Just Tristan's." Gawain explained.

"Enlighten me."

"He's always feeding it strange things. Special feed that he concocts himself after spending half the day at the market. Most droppings don't have all those little red seeds in them, also there is that piece of purplish grassy stuff…"

"Oh, well if there are seeds and grass present in this pile of shit than I'm sure that no other horse could possibly be responsible for it. By the Gods Gawain, you do try a man's patience!"

"It's better than your theory that Tristan has climbed up on a rooftop in the village to watch us search for his own amusement."

"That was just an idle thought, not a theory. Remind me not to think aloud anymore." Galahad threw up his hands. "I'm done. We ride out soon and having neglected my bed I find that I would at least like a hot meal before we leave. If Tristan doesn't show then it is he that is at fault, not I. I will not take responsibility for his disappearance. He should have kept us informed of his whereabouts. I can't be condemned for his lack of protocol! "

Gawain stole a look at Galahad as he followed him back into the fort, and silently wondered how it was that he had inspired such a tantrum with the his detective work. He decided to throw caution to the wind and try to convince him one more time that they should look to the east to locate Tristan. Galahad did not accept his suggestion gracefully, and as they passed Dagonet on the street, the giant knight did not need to look up to recognize them, as the accompanying bickering would have identified them in a mob of thousands. But, while the squabbling in itself was not unusual, the subject was. Once he caught the gist of their conversation, he felt it his duty to intervene.

"You need to tell Arthur." His booming proclamation caused Gawain and Galahad to halt abruptly and turn to face him.

"Tell him what?" Galahad swallowed nervously. "There is naught to tell."

"He will want to know that Tristan cannot be found."

"We still have time to find him. This mission doesn't necessitate all of us. Anyway ," Galahad continued "we have already looked everywhere. Nothing more to be done. We will be fine without him."

Dagonet crossed his arms. "Arthur can mobilize everyone and conduct a more thorough search than you could have managed. Avoiding him now will only bring grief later. "

"Right, of course. Well then, off we go." Gawain conceded amiably whilst grabbing Galahad's sleeve and practically dragging him around the corner and away from the largest of the knights.

Moments later Galahad felt compelled to point out the obvious. " We just passed Arthur's quarters."

"I realize that, but if he gets involved then I may not win the wager." Gawain chuckled.

Galahad rolled his eyes "True, but I'd rather you loose than have to face Dagonet if he realizes we ignored his advise."

"We will tell Arthur, but first I believe we should check the tavern for Tristan once more. He is often there around this time for the morning meal, and as long as we are there I'm sure that no one would begrudge us a healthy bowl of porridge."


End file.
